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TO   THE   LIGHTHOUSE

judging from her own experience, would all the
time be feeling. This is not what we want; there
is nothing more tedious, puerile, and inhumane
than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary.
Well then, well then? she asked, somehow expect-
ing the others to go on with the argument, as
if in an argument like this one threw one's own
little bolt which fell short obviously and left the
others to carry it on. So she listened again to
what they were saying in case they should throw
any light upon the question of love.

" Then/'  said Mr. Bankes,  " there is that
liquid the English call coffee."

"Oh coffee!"   said Mrs. Ramsay.    But it
was much rather a question (she was thoroughly
roused, Lily could see, and talked very emphati-
cally) of real butter and clean milk.    Speaking
with warmth and eloquence she described the
iniquity of the English dairy system, and in what
state milk was delivered at the door, and was about
to prove her charges, for she had gone into the
matter, when all round the table, beginning with
Andrew in the middle, like a fire leaping from
tuft to tuft of furze, her children laughed;  her
husband  laughed;    she   was  laughed  at,   fire-
encircled, and forced to vail her crest, dismount
her batteries, and only retaliate by displaying the
raillery and ridicule of the table to Mr, Bankes
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